Greater of Two Evils
by Senshi'sBard
Summary: He could never know the consequences of his actions unless he simply lived another day. Tamaki examines the choice he made to stay at Ouran. Post-anime. Angst-fest-y with some good old TamaHaru.


Hi, lovelies. I'm back with a new fic (two-shot...?). I know I should be wrapping up _Quand le ciel_ but I kind of wanted a different take on things, and we all know how much I like angsty Tamaki soooo... here's a bunch of melodramatic fluff for you. (God knows I'd never give you something with a _plot_. Pshh.) I know Tamaki might seem OOC here, without being bubbly and over the top and stuff, but let's just suspend our disbelief and travel to a universe where the angst is allowed.

Takes place the day after the anime ends, I think. So... yes. Here we go.

Oh, and if you like, you could listen to Yiruma while you read this. Because that's literally all I've been listening to these past few days while I've written this. And Blumenstück is quite lovely too, for when Tamaki's playing that.

I'll disappear now. *Poof*

* * *

He was so tired.

The day had lasted over decades, over centuries. In the morning, he had been doomed to a life of misery and fake smiles, of superficial laughter and silent tears and a pair of piercing turquoise eyes. By nightfall, he'd dove from a speeding car straight into his fate (which, incidentally, had been quite wet) and now he was free, and it was utterly bewildering.

And he was just so damn tired. Antoinette was snoring in the corner of his room, her nose tucked cozily beneath her tail, and she kind of made him wish he was a dog. Eat, sleep, walk. Breathe. Chase squirrels. No inheritances, no obligations, no duty, no engagements before he was even allowed to vote. It wasn't the 19th century anymore, for Christ's sakes. Maybe commoners had it right after all, in marrying so much later. There was just no _time_, otherwise. He was still so young, and he knew it - he knew how stupid he felt every day, how immature others thought he was, how much about the world he still had to learn. It wasn't _right _to be shackled down, caged up, clipped wings and silenced voice, before he had the chance to go out and make the most out of the fool he was.

He fingered the cross beneath the neck of his shirt absentmindedly. He wondered if he was evil. He wondered if there _was_ an evil, if there was a good, and if there was, if there was a way to achieve that goodness. He wondered if he had made the right decision. He wondered if there wasa right decision to be made.

He wondered too much. And his brain hurt from all the contemplation, all the debating, all the mulling over what had happened and what was now and what was yet to come. And he was just so tired. So tired of it all. He wanted to sleep for a hundred years, like that princess what's-her-face, and then wake up and find Haruhi there, just her, and they'd be the only two in a world that had frozen in time, and then they could catch their breath and be together, and maybe he would hold her hands like he had tonight…

Maybe he'd do more than that. Maybe he'd kiss her forehead. Kiss her cheek, her nose, watch her eyes widen. Whisper silly little truths in her ear, feel her relax in his arms. Kiss her lips, softly, passionately, let her melt against him (because in this place, in this frozen world, she _had _to want him, too - she _had to_). Weave his fingers through her hair, revel in how silky it was, inhale, smell her addictive perfume of fresh rain and honeysuckle and Girl. Bask in her glory. Trust in the universe again.

Maybe someday he'd go even further. Maybe she'd raise her arms and let him pull her shirt over her head. Maybe he'd be graced with the immortal beauty of her slender body, hold her close against his bare chest, spread his hand across her breasts. Press his lips to every inch of her. Make love to her, slowly, languidly, murmuring his adoration for her every minute. Let her come to pieces against him. Hear her sigh his name. Be right. Be himself.

But the world was constantly moving, constantly changing, and Haruhi wasn't his; and though he might try to grasp at certainty and reason and absolution, he could never know the consequences of his actions unless he simply lived another day. He couldn't know if he had made the right choice unless he just kept going.

And right now, he couldn't keep going. He was jus too tired. Too tired to sleep. Too tired to dream. He had stayed, and lost his mother. If he had left, he would have lost Haruhi. And yet by staying, she was no more his than she ever was. So perhaps he couldn't have lost her if she was never his to keep. And so… and so perhaps he could only have lost, either way. He had chosen the greater of two evils. He _was _an idiot, after all. Everyone told him that, and it was true.

_But… how could this move have been wrong if it meant falling after her?_

As the hours slipped away, he realized he felt a bit ill. Pounding head, flushed neck. He wondered if that was purely psychological or if the past few days were affecting him physically. His brain felt numb, his skull empty. The room was too dark for him to close his eyes.  
At sunrise, he got up and sat at the window seat, watching the sun ink its way over the gray-slate horizon. As the light fell into his eyes, he squinted them shut, let the thin warmth pool over his skin. He fell asleep like that, his head against the wall, mouth hanging slightly open.

* * *

In his dream, he was crying, but he had no tears to shed. He was alone because Éclair was there beside him.

* * *

A sudden pounding noise sent him tumbling off the window seat onto the floor. "Tamaki-sama!" called a muffled voice. "It's time for Antoinette's breakfast!"

He grunted and pulled himself to his feet, stumbled to the door where an anxious Antoinette was wagging her tail. "I don't even remember locking the door," he muttered to the dog, before flipping the latch and letting her out.

"What would you like to eat, Tamaki-sama?" asked the young woman at the door. She was new, wasn't she? He was terrible with names. He always made it a point to remember names _because _he was so bad at them, too, and he still wasn't sure what to call her.

"Can you just tell Shima to send me up some miso soup?" he said, running a hand down his face. His head was throbbing even worse now.

"Of course." She made to bow, much more deeply than was necessary.

"No… no, don't do that." He grimaced into his hand. "Sorry, it's just one of my… pet peeves."

"Ah. My apologies." She bobbed her head.

"Yeah. Thanks."

She scurried away, Antoinette at her heels, and Tamaki shut the door with a sigh. She'd probably be baffled with him, after hearing from the other maids what a ball of optimistic energy he was. The thought of himself, of being that way, the way he was only days before, made him nearly laugh with bitterness. Dragging his feet, massaging his temples, he dropped onto his bed and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

Five hours later, he woke to a cold bowl of miso soup on his bedside table and a sore throat. He stumbled down into the kitchen and briefly unleashed his woes to Shima, who made him a sympathetic pot of barley tea. He sipped at it for a while and stroked Antoinette's head while she drooled on his boxers.

"You should call Kyouya-kun," said Shima wisely. "Do you some good."

"What good?" Tamaki murmured.

"Take your mind off things." She set down a hunk of fresh bread with jam in front of him, and he gnawed at it apathetically.

"Well, there's nothing to think about anymore, is there?" he asked through a mouthful of raspberry flavor. "Decision's been made."

"Yes," she agreed, "but the guilt's still there."

He was silent for a few moments before saying, "Yeah, I suppose." He laughed humorlessly. "Kyouya's not really the most receptive to _guilt_. He'd think it unnecessary. No merit in it whatsoever. Doesn't do you any good. That sort of thing."

"Hm…" Shima sat down across from him at the small table. "Is it safe to assume Fujioka-san is off limits at the moment?"

Strangely, at hearing her name, his throat got all tight and gloppy, his eyes too sensitive, his face too warm. It took him a while to remember his voice. "I… don't know," he said. "Last night…" He bit his lip. "I don't know."

Shima cocked her head and waited.

"If she would ever fall for anyone," he said at length, choosing his words carefully, "it sure as hell wouldn't be me."

"You can't know that," Shima said blandly, taking a sip of her own tea.

"No," he agreed, "and that's the problem."

"So what will you do?"

"I've got to tell her," he said. "I can't stand it anymore. It's killing me. And if she can't - if she doesn't - well, I've thought it over, and… I might go back to France after all."

Shima frowned at him. "But Tamaki-kun, the whole point of not leaving with Lady Éclair…"

"…was that I thought I had a chance. With her. With… with Haruhi. When she came after me, I… I had all but given up, talked myself out of it, but then she came after me. And then it was like all that hope just burst up again and I couldn't stop it, I couldn't stop myself." He gnawed on the insides of his cheeks. "I love her, Shima. I really, really do."

The old woman sighed. "You were never one to feel anything halfheartedly."

"No." He gave a dry laugh. "No, never."

She reached across the table and patted his hand with a dry, wrinkle palm. "You're growing up," she said, "Tamaki-kun."

He shook his head, focused very intently on scratching Antoinette behind the ears. "I'm not, really," he said. "I'm just starting to understand how little I actually know. How stupid I really am."

Shima gave him a rare smile. "That's exactly what I mean."

Tamaki finished his tea with bread and jam and ascended the stairs with _The Sound of Music_ stuck in his head. His throat felt much better now, and his headache had let up, mostly, but he was still bone-tired. He thought about playing piano, but the idea wearied him even further.

Antoinette trotted up behind him, her eyes bright with excitement and pleading; grudgingly, he dressed in jeans and t-shirt and took her out on the grounds.

Watching her run around did lift his spirits a bit, and it felt good to be back here, anyway, at the second mansion, away from his father and grandmother - for today, at least. Antoinette found an old tennis ball beneath one of the hedges and galumphed back to him, her tail switching happily. He threw the ball as far as he could possibly manage, and she tore after it, uprooting the perfectly manicured grass. Seconds later she was ripping back to him, the ball clenched in her teeth, and she dropped it at his feet along with a gratuitous amount of saliva. He praised her excessively, and she flopped onto her back so he could rub her belly. When he rocked back on his heels, she bounded forward and tackled him to the ground, licking him all over his face. He couldn't quite keep himself from breaking out into peals of laughter. Christ, how he loved that dog.

That was how Kyouya found him - shirt stained green by the grass clippings, covered in dog slobber. Tamaki blinked at the sudden appearance of his friend and stared up at Kyouya's face upside-down.

"Oh," he said, surprised. "Hey."

"Hey indeed," Kyouya replied. "What, exactly, are you doing?"

"Never mind that," said Tamaki. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to pay my respects to your gardeners," Kyouya replied, expressionless.

Tamaki frowned, utterly bewildered.

Sighing, Kyouya looked away and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I'm here to visit _you_, you idiot."

Absently, Tamaki pushed Antoinette's nose out of his face. "Ah, right. Stupid me." _Always the moron_. "Hey, what's with the purse?" He pointed at a bag slung across Kyouya's shoulder.

"It's not a _purse_," said Kyouya, sounding scandalized. "I - well, I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but it's an aging European trend. It's quite convenient for certain items." He slipped his faithful notebook out of the bag and waved it in Tamaki's direction.

Tamaki grinned, not in the least astonished. "Of course," he said.

"So." Kyouya plopped to the ground and apathetically patted Antoinette on the head. "How are… things?"

"What kinds of things?" Tamaki asked, somewhat enjoying his now-unrestricted view of the sky.

"That was open for interpretation," said his friend, smiling wanly. "_You_ things. _Yesterday _things." He paused. "_Haruhi _things."

Tamaki sighed in acknowledgement. "I only wonder… I mean, I can't _help _but wonder… if I made the right choice after all."

"And what determines whether or not a choice is right?" Kyouya mused. "You took your stance; the only way to know how it will turn out is to live it."

Tamaki shook his head. "But she's my _mother, _Kyouya…"

"And it's your life," Kyouya replied, turning to face him. "Your freedom. Do you think she would have wanted you to imprison yourself, even if it meant seeing her again?"

"No," he whispered. "No, she wouldn't want that. But maybe… maybe _I _do."

"Then why did you decide to stay?"

"Because… because of the Host Club, and because it was Éclair, and because of… Haruhi…" Her name on his tongue was wretchedly quiet.

"Ah." Kyouya gazed at the ground. "Haruhi."

With a frustrated groan, he dragged his hands over his face, raked them back through his hair. "I just…" He stopped, with no intention of continuing.

"At this point," said Kyouya decisively, "I'd say it's worth the risk."

"I know," Tamaki said. "But Kyouya… what if she… I just _don't know what to do if she…"_

"You wouldn't go to France after all, would you?"

"I don't know," Tamaki mouthed.

"Hm?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" he cried. "I don't know, I don't know _anything_, because… because I can't imagine how it would feel, realizing that she thinks I'm… nothing…"

"Can it really be any worse than _this?" _Kyouya asked, somewhat amused.

Tamaki mumbled something incoherent.

Kyouya hummed thoughtfully and leaned back on his elbows. "That's the problem with you romantics," he said. "You always have to complicate things by going out and falling in love with the last person anyone would expect you to."

"Sorry," said Tamaki. He didn't feel too sorry, though.

Kyouya shrugged. "It's your loss, after all."

"You do know how to be encouraging," Tamaki said wryly.

Kyouya laughed. "I like to think of it as an incomparable sense of reality."

"Is that what you call it?"

"Mhm…" Kyouya flipped his phone open as it buzzed. "Hrm. Something's come up. I've got to run, but I'll be sending something your way this afternoon."

"A surprise," said Tamaki. "How exciting."

His friend squinted at him. "You _do _comprehend sarcasm, don't you?" He sounded somewhat pleased, as if Tamaki had come a long way, good for him.

"Only on special occasions," Tamaki said, laughing a little.

"In that case…" Kyouya rose to his feet. "I hope this occasion is short-lived."

"Me too," Tamaki murmured.

Kyouya cuffed him on the head. "Hope things clear up," he said. "Really."

And as Kyouya walked away, Tamaki realized that was just about the most heartfelt thing he could have said.

"Come on, Antoinette," he sighed. "Let's go inside."

He ended up in the music room, as he usually did. Today he played Schumann, both Clara and Robert. They seemed to compliment each other, in a strange jagged sort of way. He allowed himself to drift away in a dark cloud to a place where variations came naturally, where his fingers moved of their own accord, where he was free to roll around in his grief without distraction.

Until someone appeared in the doorway.

He noticed the figure about halfway through Robert's _Blumenstück, _but he ignored it, assuming it was one of the maids pausing to listen. He forgot about it at intervals, flowing away as he always did into thick whole phrases, hills and mounds of dynamics. And when he finally finished, he looked up, and the person was still there.

And it wasn't one of the maids.

"Haruhi!" he choked out. "What - what are you doing here? I mean… not that I… did Kyouya…? Why are you…" His eyes seemed hypersensitive to light, and he squinted into the shadows.

"Yeah, Kyouya called me," said Haruhi, her eyes cast downward as if she were a bit guilty. "He said… you were… he said you needed someone."

"Oh."

She was coming closer. Stepping toward him. She was wearing boys' jeans. Boys' jeans, for Christ's sake. Somehow it made him ache terribly between his ribs.

"So…" said Haruhi, lingering by the piano. "What's up?"

His eyes were welling up. Shit. "N-nothing," he said. "Nothing, really." The piano blurred in front of him. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"S-senpai?" she stammered. Her eyes were wider than the sun, and they blazed at him as she approached.

Seeing her - him being here, and her being here, and seeing her - it was all he could do not to let his tear ducts overflow.

Which seemed to be a lost cause, anyway.

"Sorry," he muttered, leaning his elbows on the edge of the piano, lodging his hands in his hair. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't.

A hot wet stream pooled out over his cheek. He let it drip onto the piano keys. B flat, he noticed dully.

Her footsteps were muted by the carpet, but he heard her slide onto the bench beside him. He kept his eyes steadfast on the piano, and flinched horribly when she reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Tamaki-senpai… what's wrong?"

Oh, Christ, Christ, her _voice_, her goddamn _voice_, it _killed _him, because she sounded… she sounded so… _authentic_, so _caring_, so gentle and quiet and so _Haruhi_. And then he was shuddering as little tremulous sobs ripped out of his chest, one after the other, until he was crying in earnest into his hands. Short low gasps tore from his throat, reverberating through the flawless acoustics of the music room, echoing in his ears as it reproduced and multiplied his grief tenfold.

"Senpai," she begged a bit desperately, and he froze as she pressed her face against his shoulder and flung her arms around his waist. "It's okay," she whispered. "You can let it out."

He was bawling now, arms migrating down to his middle where he fastened hers against his stomach, held them there too tightly, afraid he might burst if she moved. His head bent further over the piano, dipping and rising in a sporadically even tempo with his anguished cries.

It wasn't just about Haruhi. It had never been. It was everything that had accumulated over his life - every fake smile he'd ever worn, every hand he'd extended to help, every burden that had been laid one by one upon his shoulders, every slap in the face he'd endured from his father and grandmother, and the _guilt_, Christ in heaven, the horrific guilt of knowing that he had left his mother behind, alone, forsaken, and that he had chosen, in the end, to condemn her to whatever life she was living now… and it was worst of all that he had no idea what she would have wanted him to do. He was blind and flailing and flattened. He had no more resolve.

Haruhi's hand slid over his back, rubbing in rhythmic circles, and she was breathing slowly into his ear. He gradually stemmed the flow from his eyes with the back of his hand and leaned his head back against hers, dry hiccups wracking his body. Gulping, he snuffled loudly and gave a long, low sigh.

Sensing that the downpour for now, at least, was over, Haruhi squeezed his wrist and tilted her head to look at him. "Senpai?"

He wished she wouldn't look at him like that. He wished she wouldn't look at him at all. "Just give me a minute," he mumbled in a hoarse, grating voice that was too haunted to be his own.

"Okay," she whispered, and resumed her circles on his back.

Dammit, Haruhi. Why did she have to _care _like this? Why did she have to make everything more difficult? He shook his head internally. As if he could blame her for the way he felt. _You always have to complicate things by going out and falling in love with the last person anyone would expect you to_, said Kyouya's voice in his head. It was his fault, and nothing more.

Everything was his fault. Nothing was his fault. Which one, which one, which one… Éclair hadn't been his fault, that had been his duty, and that had been a result of simply being born, but his fault for being born, for being born, that was all he had done wrong, and all he had ever done, all he had ever asked for was to live, and everything tumbled downhill from there… He was only the byproduct of the generations, the aftermath of that face-off, and he had split the family into pieces, just by existing, and so in being raised he was told to be perfect, be flawless, be more than you can be - so he was always more, more than he could possibly give - and it had to catch up with him eventually, because _how much can you give away without receiving in return?_

And this - this compassion - her hand tight in his, her arm wrapped around him - was so foreign, and yet it rang true and clear as day, that he had learned to mean it, every single time, and now when he needed it himself, she was there to guide him.

His thoughts were positively steaming, now. He felt too much at once, and he wanted to seize her and crush her to his chest, wanted to throw her away and beg her to stop tormenting him like this. He only wanted - ultimately, he only wanted - to do _good_. He wanted to be right. He wanted the truth.

"Haruhi," he said, and he sounded more like himself. "I - "

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile sadly at him. "You don't have to explain," she said. "I understand, Tamaki-senpai." His throat tightened as she reached out and rubbed the tear-stains from his cheeks with her thumb. "Sometimes," she continued, "there are parts of life that are too much for one person to take alone." Her smile brightened. "So that's why you have us. You know we - _I _always want to help you." She swallowed with difficulty. "I know I've never really said this before, but… I've always been so grateful for how much you've changed all of us for the better, senpai. You know that, don't you? That we'd all of us be so lost without you. That's why we couldn't bear to lose you."

He laughed harshly. "You all don't need me, much," he said. "I'm just silly, most of the time. I just…"

"_No_," said Haruhi, and she was on her feet, glaring down at him, somehow only slightly taller despite the fact that he was seated. "Were you even _listening _when I came after you? You have such a warped view of yourself, it's unbelievable!" She was practically shouting, and he hunched over even further, cowering from the rather intimidating specimen she'd become. "Do you think we don't see through that façade you put on every day? Well we _do_, senpai. _I _do. I see right through you, and you're _good_, through and through. Beautiful and brilliant and _good_. Okay?"

He half expected to be jabbed by a finger once her rant was over, and he cringed slightly in anticipation, but she only plopped back down next to him on the piano bench. Then she giggled a bit drily. "Are you afraid of me now?"

His mouth twitched in an attempt to grin. "A little."

"Somehow," she said frankly, "that wasn't my intention." She laughed. "Okay, maybe it was, a little." She let out a long breath. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I - " A few leftover tears spilled from his eyes. He nodded. "I think so."

"What should I do?" The question was honest and open and strong. God, he needed her so much.

"Just don't leave me," he whispered, extending an arm, crushing her to his side. "Don't ever leave me, Haruhi."

She wrapped herself around his waist again and settled into his shoulder. "Okay."

They sat together for what seemed like hours. Occasionally, Tamaki's thoughts would wander back towards the darker side of his mind, and he would hold tighter to the girl in his arms and cry silently into her hair, but nothing was as violent as the flash flood that had erupted when she first found him. With her there, he breathed, he bled, he burned mutedly. His heartache bloomed.

As dusk began to filter into the air, Haruhi squirmed out from under his embrace and said, "Do you want to come over for dinner, maybe? My dad will be out late."

He bit his lip. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, definitely."

"Okay." She stood and, somewhat awkwardly, hugged him from behind. "I'll see you in, say, an hour?"

"Yeah," he repeated. "That… that would be really good." He glanced up at her and met her eye with half a smile. "Haruhi, I… thanks…"

"Don't," she said lightly, shrugging her shoulders a bit. "I owe you, trust me." And she turned on her heel and left.

Somewhat dazed, he blinked a few times. He rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to erase any trace of weakness and then headed upstairs to take a shower.

The water was good and hot on his hollow limbs, and he sagged against the wall in the steam. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he felt purified and sleepy and a little numb. He dressed in dark jeans and a long sleeve shirt even though it was summer; he didn't want to lose that feeling of being wrapped up in a warm blanket. It felt sort of like his mother was there.

He put in a word to Shima as to where he was headed, and she simply nodded. That was what he liked about her; she didn't react much, but let him live and deal with the repercussions himself.

Grabbing his bike, he set out towards the Fujioka home. It was about a twenty minute ride pedaling fast, and he wasn't in a particularly speedy mood today. He plodded along, face set apathetically, not really noticing what passed him by. His gloom seemed to have curled up inside his chest like a humid, purring cat. It wasn't entirely unwelcome anymore, either, which confused him. There was something cathartic about finally shattering in a clean break, after so much tension building up inside of him. Now all he had to do was build himself again. And to start…

He locked his bike against the rack beneath Haruhi's apartment and clambered up the stairs to the second floor landing. Rapped dully on the door. Waited with his hands in his pockets until she opened it.

Her face peeped out, anticipation and honesty brimming in her wide-eyed expression.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," she said softly, as if she were afraid that too loud a volume would crush him. "Come on in."

He entered into the small white kitchen and inhaled the mouth-watering scent of teriyaki sauce. "I'm almost finished," said Haruhi. "Just give me a minute, okay?" She returned to the stove, where a myriad of vegetables were simmering.

"Can I do anything?" he asked, his manners overtaking his instinct to keep his mouth sealed shut.

"Uhm… if you want to get yourself some water, there are glasses up there." She jerked her head to the cabinet above her.

As he approached her, he became suddenly hypersensitive to her presence next to him. His every nerve felt strange and tingly, as if he'd burst into a thousand stars if he didn't touch her. He ignored it, and fetched two glasses, filled them with water at the sink. Placing them on the counter, he turned back to Haruhi. "Anything else?"

"Nope! I think we're ready." She dished the vegetables into a bowl. "You can grab the rice, though, if you wouldn't mind."

He didn't mind a bit. In fact, he rather liked being useful. They managed to transport everything to the table, and when he slumped to his knees he realized he was rather hungry, after all.

Haruhi wasn't a bad cook. In fact, she made damn good vegetable stir fry. So good that he had a second helping.

They spoke very little. Tamaki wasn't precisely bubbling with conversation like he usually was, and Haruhi had never been one for small talk when there was an elephant in the room. He decided he was alright with that. He liked things like this, just sitting with her, eating her food, watching her chew. It made everything else seem sort of distant and irrelevant, as long as Haruhi took another bite of green beans.

He helped her clean off the table and wash the dishes. He liked the way the soapy water felt on his hands, all frothy and starch-clean. He liked being close to her, doing this simple work together, as a seamless process. He was just one of the cogs in the assembly line, and he could fall into place and function and be right. It was kind of like playing piano.

Eventually, they finished, and then there was nothing else to distract them from the issue at hand.

"So," said Haruhi, turning to him as she put the last plate away. "How are you doing?"

"Better," he said, "now that I'm here."

She smiled vaguely. "The healing properties of the Fujioka household?"

"Not the household, exactly," he said, leaning against the counter. "Just you."

He could have sworn she blushed, but she turned away too quickly for him to be certain. "Well, both the house and I appreciate your help cleaning up."

"Of course," he said. "A fair trade for a delicious meal."

She laughed faintly and then, to his astonishment, she was hugging him around the middle.

"Ah…"

She said nothing, but when she released him, she smiled tentatively and met his eye. "I'm glad you came over."

His astonishment morphed into an easy grin. "Me too."

Haruhi turned away and started bustling about, filling a pitcher with water. "For my plants," she explained. "Come water them with me?"

He followed her down the hall and into her bedroom. It was small and cramped and perfectly Haruhi - pale yellow walls, deep blue blanket on the futon. He smiled at the bookcase that crouched awkwardly, too big for the room, beside the window. "You have a library."

She chortled, drifting over to the shelves and brushing her fingers over the book spines. "Most were my mom's. She used to read to me. I loved Alice in Wonderland." On her tiptoes, she watered the vines that climbed up and down the shelf.

"You've got a lot of British literature here," he observed. "Dickens, Austen, Shakespeare, Hardy, the Brontës…"

"My mom studied in England," Haruhi explained, migrating to the little flower pot on her desk. "She always said the British knew how to write."

"I'm not sure if I agree with that, necessarily," said Tamaki, mildly amused. "No more than any other culture."

"Well, she was positive," Haruhi laughed.

"Have you read Dumas?" Tamaki asked, removing _The Count of Monte Cristo _from the bookcase.

"Skimmed it," said Haruhi.

He gasped, pressing his hand to his chest, feeling a bit of his old self rise to his surface. "But it's classic French literature! La meilleure de toute la monde!"

Haruhi's eyes narrowed. "Senpai, I don't speak French."

"It's classic," he repeated, grinning. "Come on, we'll read it now."

"Now?" she asked, surprised.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" he countered playfully.

"The whole book?" she insisted.

"As much as we like."

"Well…" She seemed skeptical but allowed him to tow her to the front of the house. He sat in the little alcove that constituted the living room; Haruhi disposed of her watering pitcher and settled herself uncertainly across from him.

"Do you not want to do this?" he asked, flipping the book open.

"No, no!" Her hands shot up. "I do, I really do. If you want to, I mean. Then I do."

He gave her half a grin. "Alright then. Since you're so persuasive." He cleared his throat dramatically. "The Count of Monte Cristo. Chapter one. On the twenty-fourth of February, 1810, the look-out at Notre-Dame de la Garde signaled the three-master, the Pharaon from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples…"

He read with conviction, with passion, deep undertones coloring every phrase that streamed from the page through his voice. The villains Fernand and Danglars he gave heavy French accents; Dantes somehow became British; and the rest of the characters ranged from Indian- to Spanish- to Russian-sounding. Haruhi seemed consistently entertained by his range in voice, and once or twice he had to pause so she could laugh herself silly on the other end of the sofa.

He passed through four chapters and a bit when he said suddenly, "Do you want to read?"

"Me?" said Haruhi. "Well… I'm not as good at the voices as you are… and I can't pronounce all these French names."

"That's alright," he said cheerfully. "I'll help you."

"Okay," she said, and he scooted closer to her to show her where he'd left off. He made himself focus on correcting her pronunciation for a bit - "Cader_ousse_, Haruhi - no, round your lips a bit more… there! A perfect French 'ou'!" - and then allowed himself to be distracted by how small and warm she was, how good she smelled - not quite how he remembered. There was still a lingering feel of honeysuckle to her scent, but what had reminded him of spring rain before now was composed entirely of vanilla. He resisted the urge to lean his nose into her hair and inhale deeply; instead he draped his arm casually around her and listened to her read.

His eyes grew a bit heavy by the time she hit chapter five - he supposed because of the rather sleepless night he'd had - and around the point that Dantes was arrested, he was zoning in and out on Haruhi's voice.

"Are you asleep?" he heard her ask distantly, and his head jerked up from its resting place on his shoulder.

"Kinda," he grimaced. "I should - go…"

"You don't have to," said Haruhi. "I mean, you can stay, if you want. I'll keep reading."

He had a brief battle with his responsible side; responsibility lost. "Okay," he mumbled, and leaned his head against hers, and sighed as she began to speak again, felt the reverberations of her quiet voice through her skull…

* * *

He drifted through dreams. He was safe here.

* * *

He was in the midst of telling Kyouya something extremely important (he couldn't for the life of him remember _what)_ when a shriek jolted him back to consciousness.

"HARUHI! WHY IS THERE A BOY ASLEEP ON OUR SOFA! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA - ?"

He realized he was sprawled across the sofa, but noticed little else as Haruhi's voice interrupted her father's.

"DAD! Shut _up! _You don't have to yell about it, alright?" That was his Haruhi - always the voice of reason. "He just fell asleep while we were, uh, talking, and…"

"And now he needs to leave! Do you know what _time _it is?"

Haruhi's voice lowered considerably. "Dad, look. Come in here and calm down and let me explain something to you, alright?"

The fearsome Fujioka Ryoji continued to express his outrage for a few more moments until Haruhi murmured something that Tamaki couldn't make out. The two engaged in a passionate but hushed dialogue long enough for Tamaki to drop off again, just a little.

He twitched awake again when something warm drooped over his legs. Blearily, he blinked at the dim shadow which seemed to be spreading a blanket on top of him. He grunted. "Whatim'zit?"

"It's about one thirty," Haruhi whispered.

He sat up, swatting blindly at his eyes. "I should go."

She snorted. "What are you going to do, bike home?"

"I could call someone…"

"Don't bother. I just battered some reasoning into my dad, so you're safe for tonight." Was it a trick of the light, or did she actually _wink _at him? "Here, I brought you a pillow." She procured said object from the floor and placed it on his lap.

"Thanks," he muttered, shoving it behind him and collapsing onto the sofa again. Christ, he didn't know how it was possible for anyone to be this tired.

Haruhi knelt by his head and smiled a little shyly. He smiled back, feeling a little drugged, like when he took one too many Benadryl for his cat allergies.

"Tamaki-senpai?" she said hesitantly, and he realized his eyes had closed again. They snapped open immediately.

"Yeah."

"I just wanted to tell you that… I know it's been hard for you, but… I'm really glad you're staying at Ouran."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm just glad you didn't drown, you know?"

She giggled. "Me too." Squeezing his hand, she rose to her feet. "Good night."

"G'night, Haruhi, love you," he muttered. He was asleep again in seconds, but somewhere in the back of his mind he had a vague feeling of impending doom.

Which he pointedly ignored.

* * *

His phone buzzed at 5:42 am.

Two minutes later, he rolled off the sofa and crept into Haruhi's room, using the phone's luminous screen to light his path through the hallway. She was sprawled on her stomach, her hand cupped by her mouth. She looked so naïve, so bedraggled and worn, that he had to focus in order not to lay down beside her and hold her and never let her go.

Instead, he crouched down beside her futon and kept his hands to himself. "Haruhi!" he breathed through the pinkish dawn that had settled over the room.

She groaned and rolled onto her face. "School's not yet…"

He slid onto the edge of her futon and brushed his fingers through her hair. So much for hands to himself. "Haruhi, wake up."

"Hzz - hnh?" A corner of her face appeared, giving berth to a squinting brown eye. "Senpai?" she mumbled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he chuckled, stroking her hair once more. "Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to tell you I'm leaving - my father got called away suddenly and I want to see him off."

"Oh," she said blandly. "Alright."

"So - I just wanted to thank you, Haruhi. Thank you so much. I don't…" He shook his head. "What you did meant everything to me, and I…" He trailed off.

She turned towards him a little more and smiled. "Just returning the favor, senpai."

He breathed out a little laugh. "Well… thanks, anyway."

"Anytime. Really."

He bit his lip. "I should go…" The phrase sounded worn now, as if he'd rubbed it with a cheese grater. Or something.

"What's keeping you?" she countered.

"N-nothing…" He blushed a little. "I just…"

She waited, but he didn't continue."What?" she insisted.

Tamaki took a deep breath. "I think I said something last night…" Her eyes were locked on his. He couldn't think. His heart was pounding in his throat and there was too much blood in his brain. "I think I said I lo- I love you."

Haruhi simply blinked. "Yeah, you did. You were kind of delirious."

"N-no, that's not what I mean. I mean… I mean, I meant it. I did."

"I figured you probably did," she replied. A smile slowly kneaded its way into her cheeks. "But, ahm… it's nice to hear you say it, anyway."

He frowned. "What do you mean, you figured I probably did?"

"Well, just after what happened." She stretched languidly, cat-like. "It just… makes sense. With the way you've been acting, I guess."

"Right," said Tamaki, rather nettled. "Alright. Well. I just wanted to… clarify, I suppose, and, ah… I'll be going now." Somewhat stiffly, he got up and headed through the hallway to the front door.

It didn't matter. It was irrelevant. He was here, he wasn't with Éclair, and he was going to _stay_ here, because he'd made up his mind. Because the only way to know if it was a bad choice was to live it. That was what Kyouya had said, and Kyouya was right about everything, wasn't he?

He nodded firmly to himself and reached for the handle.

Haruhi came padding up behind him just then. "Ah, senpai?"

He turned coolly. "Hm?"

She squirmed in place, her hands massaging the sides of her loose t-shirt. "I, uhm… I just sort of… I mean, I realized that I wasn't very clear, just now, because - well, I know I'm usually pretty direct but I don't really -" She swallowed. "Look, I kind of love you. Too." Her eyes bugging, she blanched. "Unless you didn't mean it that way…"

They stared at each other. He was rooted to the spot.

_I kind of love you._

_Too._

Was this - was this…?

"…but if you did," she continued, "then… I guess I don't want you to walk away thinking that I don't feel anything for you. Because… that wouldn't be true." She shuffled uncomfortably again and opened her mouth to continue, but before she could, he took a quick step forward, seized her around the waist, and lifted her mouth to his. She squeaked in surprise and went very still.

It was by no means much of a kiss. Their lips were more or less frozen in place, and Haruhi was quivering like a leaf in a hurricane, but she didn't quite protest. Which was encouraging. Sort of.

After a second or two, he pulled away. Haruhi was blushing furiously, and he smiled somewhat apologetically. "Can I come back?" he asked quietly. "After I see my father off? Maybe take you out to lunch?"

"Ah." She raised a hand to her cheek. "Y-yeah. Sure. Of course." She bobbed her head quickly.

"Okay." He beamed at her and ducked down to kiss her on the forehead. "I'll see you soon, then." And then before he could do anything to ruin things, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

* * *

If you feel kind of cheated of a real kiss, don't worry; I've got a sort of second mini-chapter planned. I was honestly kind of disappointed when I ended up writing this because I wanted something big and dramatic, but that's the problem with writing: things just _happen, _and you're like "Oh... shit." (I dunno if that's personal or universal, but yeah.)

Anyhow, you know how grateful I am to hear from you. Totally lights up my day. (:

Cheers!

~SB


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